


Me Costó la Vida

by lachingona



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: And takes over, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Ernesto basically steals Hector's life, F/M, Favoritism, He's a father but not a very good one, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Murder, Overcoming and healing from trauma, Physical Abuse, This is NOT an Ernesto/Imelda story Hector/Imelda are the only pairing I think of, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-03-23
Packaged: 2019-04-06 20:21:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14064807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachingona/pseuds/lachingona
Summary: They dangle their relationship in front him, like taunting a dog with a bone, only to snatch it away anytime he comes close. Ernesto knows Imelda is perfect, he knows Hector doesn't deserve her, and he can't seem to shake the feeling something isn't right.Hector's life is incomparable. Ernesto wants it for himself.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ok so my other story was sooo buggy?? And just would not work nor update so I had to delete it and repost it amazing huh lol
> 
> Anyways this idea has been plaguing me since 4ever. Ernesto is an incredibly complex and well-written character whom I've been dying to write and this story may not be filled with a lot of nice things. Letting ya'll know, this isn't meant to be a shippy Ernesto/Imelda fic. They're not good for each other and Ernesto isn't wonderful to Imelda or her family in this. Abuse is a sensitive, serious topic and I write this out of experience. I am in no way writing this to erase the lives of these characters but simply see what could have been. 
> 
> Enjoy

Ernesto notices Imelda Rivera in the heart of the plaza _,_ clad in a brilliant, baby pink dress that exposes the smooth skin of her shoulders, hugging her tender yet strong frame. She's chatting up  _Doña Carmen,_ her voice ever soft and sweet to the woman famous for her homegrown  _tunas. Doña Carmen_ offers Imelda one of them with a brilliant smile, ripe and dark red, already staining the tips of her fingers maroon. She takes a bite of the sweet fruit and the juice escapes the corner of her lip and drips down her chin in a fine, thin line. She laughs lightly, a rare thing, and it resonates wonderfully over the crowds _._

Ernesto knows  _of_  Imelda. Really, he refuses to believe anyone here  _doesn't_ know of Imelda. They have a strained relationship; they bicker and tease and fight, but all in good fun. At least, Ernesto hopes so. She says he's  _mas_ _feo_   _que un burro_  and Ernesto repeats the rude fact she has  _una_ _cara_ _de_ _perra_ _._ Her glares are sharper than the edge of a filed knife. She's known for her strength, her powerful punches, arms swinging so hard it could knock a man's skull clean off his neck. Imelda's known to break teeth and bruise eyes, yet, there's a rare softness in her.

Imelda's favorite flowers are  _jacaranda's._  She likes children. She loves her twin brothers. She doesn't like  _cajeta_  in her  _churros,_  and doesn't allow a single person to speak above or for her. She's wildly different from the girls around the markets, the girls that talk to Ernesto and beg for his attention with bitten lips and unmet promises.

Ernesto wishes he  _knew_ Imelda instead.

But he watches from afar, sitting stiffly on the fountains edge of the square. Hector tuned the ends of his guitar beside him, only to produce sour notes every time he attempts to play. A frustrated groan leaves his lips before running his fingers over the neck of the instrument and jabbing the end of it against Ernesto's hip.

" _Amigo,_ _ayudame_ _con esto."_

Ernesto watches  _Doña Carmen_  stack Imelda's basket with green and red  _tunas._ He doesn't want to take her eyes off her for a second. But Hector nudges him again and Ernesto sighs in exasperation.

"Are you stupid,  _o_   _eres menso?"_ Ernesto huffs and helps him, or tries to. He pulls the string too taut and it snaps clean off with a withering  _twing_ _._ Hector stifles down his amusement before it explodes from him like a firework. His laugh is deafening. Everything about Hector is deafening, but his laugh could put a hyena to shame, and he laughs and laughs until Ernesto feels the burning embarrassment in his ears.

He shoves Hector with a curse, hard enough he almost stumbles into the strange-smelling water from down below. It only prompts Hector to laugh harder. He pulls at the dead string with stuttering giggles and in that moment, Ernesto catches Imelda's eyes. She turns to them, the scene they're making, the typical teenaged boys up to nothing but trouble. A foreign look peeks out from underneath her lashes and Ernesto chokes on a breath.

She's staring at nothing but Hector.

* * *

"I'm going to be a musician, Hector." Ernesto voiced aloud. The moment he'd picked up a guitar, Ernesto found he couldn't put it down. Music raptured him. Playing and singing, performing, watching in envy at the many people on screen, on stage, doing what he loved most. Hector and him, with the little chances they had, began performing non-stop, at any small bookings they could manage. They fed Ernesto's fanatasies, and provide the few  _pesos_ that kept the two afloat.

Ernesto has expressed his near-impossible dreams to his friend, fingers dancing across the strings of his guitar and a persistent look in his eyes. Hector had scoffed playfully and fiddled with his instrument; a withering, old, wooden guitar nearly tearing at the seams. He teases him with a laugh, "And I'll be your backup,  _'Nesto."_

They perform near the markets, in front of  _Señora_ _Angelina's_ _dulceria_ _,_ with her kind permission and a few free  _caramelos_  for the session. They attract a decent crowd of young women and children, some  _vaqueros_ on their horses, and old couples looking for a switch in their monotonous routine. They get requests and applause, a few little girls dancing in twirling circles by their feet.

Ernesto watches the familiar sweep of baby pink. Imelda walks past them without a single thought and Ernesto feels a stab at his chest. She's barely given him a second glance. He can't lose Imelda. Though, losing her would mean he would have had her in the first place, which is far from the truth. But he's hopeful. He enjoys thinking she might want him. He seeks Imelda's approval, strives for her attention, knowing the possible chance she never let him have it.

Imelda was stubborn, is all. Ernesto understands this. She's a beautiful girl with high morals and an odd way of thinking. She's not compliant. She's not quiet. Imelda is loud the moment she steps into a room, even if not a single noise erupted from her.

Ernesto doesn't like quiet. He likes the bright and the exciting. He likes screaming sounds and booming music.

Imelda is just that.

He tries to sing louder then, more boastful, anything to bring her attention to them, to  _him_  and falters when Imelda's looks up.

They hold a stare for a brief moment and Ernesto feels his head spin, before her eyes fall onto Hector; his exuberant nature and bright smiles, large teeth glinting in the sun as he dances a dance that isn't quite a dance with a young child giggling shyly at the strange man singing to her.

Imelda stares at Hector and she smiles.

* * *

" _She said yes!"_

Hector's announcement blinds Ernesto. He jumps atop the bed beside him, making the two bounce awkwardly as his fists clench in utter glee. He grips Ernesto's wrist, punches at his shoulder to let out the stream of adrenaline coursing through him. Ernesto scoffs in annoyance and Hector laughs.

" _Mentiroso_ _."_ Ernesto says. Though, he knows Hector isn't lying. Despite his growing attempts to have Imelda, her mind had been made. Anytime they played, anytime they went out, anytime they spoke to her, lucky times indeed, her attention was solely on Hector. A fool could guess how deeply she favored him. There was a genuine interest in her eyes whenever they landed on Hector. She laughed at his stupid jokes, sung his stupid songs, and when the words  _menso_  and  _inutil_  fell from her lips at him, they didn't hold nearly as much malice as the ones she meant for others.

Granted, their blooming friendship had caused Ernesto to grow close with Imelda, closer than he thought possible and closer than what he could handle from before. Now, however, he's stuck in purgatory. A space he cannot cross between him and Imelda now that her admiration for Hector had blossomed.

Ernesto feels a sour taste in his mouth.

"I'm taking her to the festival tonight." Hector announces with a bashful yet fond tone. His grin is lazy, as the memories of Imelda play through his head, as if he deserved to have  _her_ in his mind at all.

But Ernesto smiles for him. Hector is family, and despite the growing fact he may have more of a chance with the girl Ernesto so desperately wanted, Hector is his blood _._ He's proud of him.

"I'm sure you'll have fun,  _orejon_." He mocks and Hector kicks his knee in retaliation. Ernesto smiles, genuine as it can be, but the corners of his lips weigh heavy with hidden jealousy.

* * *

Ernesto feels the seed of bitterness and envy growing in his stomach. It latches onto his organs and seeps thick tar over the once clean aura he possessed, tainting it in bitterness. His insides churn whenever be sees the two people he learned to call family, whom he now resents.

There's a strained love involving them. He cares about Hector and Imelda, wants no harm to come to either of them, but it's  _difficult_. It's as if they're dangling their perfect relationship in front him and snatching it away anytime he comes close. Like they're taunting him.

Ernesto knows better. He knows deep in the crevices of his heart that Imelda and Hector would never be that cruel. Hector treats him like a brother. They tease each other like siblings do and bask in the mere presence of one another. Imelda has grown a rather close relationship with Ernesto as well. Even if he cannot hold her the way Hector does, cannot kiss her nor touch her nor be with her, she loves Ernesto her own way.

Ernesto chews on his pride and sighs.

The wedding is nice. It's small and private, Ernesto representing Hector and Imelda's twin brothers representing her. They have a few friends present, most of which they made from their singing and some from Imelda's own endeavors, but it's  _alive_. There's music and food and dancing and Ernesto has never seen two people look so happy together. Imelda kisses Hector tenderly and there's nothing but love in her eyes. Hector holds her by the waist as the music slows. She looks stunning in her gown and Hector looks out of place with a woman so beautiful in his arms, but he has her and she has him and Ernesto downs the shot in his hand. He's a Rivera now. He took her name. She should have taken Ernesto's.

" _¡Ernesto!"_  Hector calls. The music is loud again, thundering and fast-paced. He's falling apart with laughter and Imelda hangs onto his waist with a tipsy air encasing her. They usher him over and Ernesto reluctantly makes his way to them.

"Let's play." Hector says brightly and unwraps Imelda's arms from around him to hold her palms and kiss the tops of her hands, the newly place ring settled upon her finger. Ernesto's lip twitches.

But soon they're dancing across the courtyard, a grin of pure happiness painted on Hector's face, Imelda clapping along to their shared rhythm. She dances with her brothers and the friends surrounding them and Ernesto had never so desperately wanted to stop playing music.

* * *

Coco was a surprise.

Ernesto's intial reaction was anger. A part of Hector grew in Imelda, a part of him  _infected_ her. It made rage fester within him, disgust bubbling over his brim at the very thought of them even  _conceiving_ a child.

It dissipated when she was born.

Hector was a nervous wreck, sweating through his shirts as the midwife forbid them from entering the room. Sooner than expected, Imelda demanded Hector's company and he was rushed quickly inside by her wishes. Ernesto waited patiently as he soothed her, held her, muttered comforting words of encouragement for his daughter and wife.

Ernesto's brows furrowed. Placing his elbows on his knees, he hung his head. The ordeal hung heavily on his shoulders; they were expanding, growing so well it hurt to watch. Hector had everything Ernesto strived for. The woman he so deeply cherished was now having his child.

Imelda looked thoroughly exhausted and even behind the wild hair smattered over her slick face and the dry trail of tears down her eyes, she looked beautiful. Hector owned his own tears, thick rivulets streaming down his face. The child was  _noisy._ She was just as loud as Hector could be and had the powerful set of lungs to prove it. She wailed from the strenous act of birth but Hector held her as if it didn't matter.

Wrapping his arms around Imelda's tired form, his touch so delicate, Hector coos softly at them both. The tears make it rather difficult to create words but he tries, tries to silence his daughter and is successful, as Hector always is in  _anything_ he does. Ernesto watches from the sidelines as their murmuring words fill his ears.

" _Ernesto,"_ Imelda calls him and her voice is raspier than usual, like sandpaper on a brick wall, but it's comforting either way. Ernesto glances up abruptly and Hector greets him with a crooked grin and a sniffle, Imelda's own lethargic smile shining through as much as it could in her state. She beckoned him with two shaky fingers and he settled on her other side. The warmth was abundant between the three and Ernesto could feel the unadulterated love seeping from each of them, even young Coco, who had been brought to the world mere minutes ago.

"Hold her." Imelda mumbles; it takes everything in her to speak, she's so weary. Ernesto tries to protest, his mouth not quite forming the words before Coco is pushed into his arms. He struggles to adjust her as both Imelda and Hector tuck her properly within him. The girl fusses and Hector laughs that watery laugh of his when his emotions get the better of him.

When Ernesto sees her up close, any negative feelings leave him so quickly it makes him dizzy. She's a spitting image of Imelda; she has her nose, her lips, her rounded cheeks and soft face. He counts ten tiny nails on ten perfect fingers, so small and frail compared to anything he is. She's the epitome of Imelda and they know that.

" _Esta_ _hermosa,"_ Ernesto chuckles. He envelops her in his warmth, her tiny body cradled in his large arms. She stirs, and Hector bends his body nearly in half to watch her whimper like a waking kitten. Her eyes flutter open so delicately Ernesto wonders if she's made of glass.

Coco has Hector's wonderous eyes, the deep chocolate brown, rich and dark. She stares with fascination, and behind the viel of her mother's appearance, Coco is all Hector.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ernesto proposes a plan.

Coco is a loud baby.

She's fussy, she's wiggly, she spits up her milk and smacks her chubby hands on her parent's unexpecting faces with arms as strong as her mother's.

And Hector couldn't love her more.

He holds his breath as her palms, covered in food mush and spit, cup his high cheekbones. Her nails dig into his skin, but she's quiet and content and it's all that matters. Ernesto would feel a strange  _something_ swirl in his stomach at the sight and he shoves Hector away with as much good-will as he can muster, but perhaps a bit too roughly, and folds a wet cloth in his hand.

"If she does that to Imelda, it's _you_ who's going to pay,  _pendejo."_ He mutters while cleaning off Coco's hands. She squeals at Ernesto, patting her palms on the table, sending food splattering. Hector's gasp is sharp and near worrisome.

" _Ernesto,_ watch your mouth!" Hector scolds and his friend rolls his eyes nearly out of his sockets. Hector stressed too much. He'd had to bite back the many curses he was so use to saying because of the young girl. Imelda would catch him and demanded him to stop; Ernesto listened with earnest. Hector's commands only irritated his soul and made Ernesto grumble under his breath.

Ever since Coco's birth, Imelda was hardly present and unbelievably exhausted. As expected, her body was still occupied in bouncing back, at least enough to be able to move. While Hector wanted nothing more than to help her, she waved him off to their daughter, little Coco who had no clue she was the cause of her mother's pain. Ernesto was caught in the middle of assisting Coco or Imelda; both seemed to call for his attention, despite Imelda's protests and Coco's reliance on Hector.

"You don't have to, Ernesto." Imelda murmurs quietly in the dimmed room she shares with her husband. He tucks the pillow behind her back, helps her with the one between her knees, and a quiet hiss spills from her lips. It dies down to a low groan and Ernesto's chest clenches with something foreign.

"Yes, but I want to." Ernesto urges, "Hector's not very available now, is he?"

Imelda smiles tiredly from her position. Letting Ernesto blanket her with a cushion of soft covers and pillows. Her body relaxes in the bed; she  _let's_ herself react to the feeling. A quiet hum vibrates in her throat.

"You worry so much." She mumbles.

Ernesto lowers the brightness of her oil lamp, a smile tugging at his mouth "And you don't worry enough."

Her eyes fall heavy. He stands quietly to let himself out, watching her breathe briefly, knowing she's there and she's alright. His voice is an octave higher than a whisper, barely making it out in the cold air,

" _Hasta mañana, Imelda."_

* * *

Coco is an energetic little thing. She's vibrant and loud and her squealing giggles can be heard from the  _mercados_  down the street. She likes dancing and the color pink and idolizes her parents like they're something holy.

Ernesto was given the honor as  _padrino,_ and took that very title to heart. He was a true godfather in the simplest terms. He loved Coco, danced with her, sang with her; her laugh was an exceptional feature that Ernesto could never overlook and he strived to bring it forth at every chance he could. She liked stepping her sock-clad feet over his shined shoes as he spun around in quick steps. Coco was so frail and so tiny and it melted Ernesto's heart each and every time she'd squeak  _Tio 'Nesto_ at him in the smallest voice.

"You spoil her too much," Imelda tuts as Ernesto presents her with a  _cocada._ Coco's smile is blinding and her barely-there teeth nibble on the dessert. Beside her, Hector takes a bite from the sweet to break the flavor from the inside, and Coco chews into that instead. Ernesto's eyes narrow slightly at Hector, sharp and near venomous, and he doesn't know  _why_.

" _Both_ of you." Imelda huffs. Hector laughs with a mouthful of coconut and Ernesto scoffs. Coco giggles at her father and he kisses the flakes of sugar off her cheeks. There's adortion in Coco's eyes, and no matter what he seems to do, the laughter surges up within her without fail. Ernesto longs for that look himself. Coco stares at him like she's waiting for a joke, or she's on the brink of laughing from something Hector had already done. He's not as natural as her father, and it irritates him.

Countless times, he wishes to be the source of Coco's happiness. There's moments where Hector's out buying necessities and he's left with his family. Imelda, strengthening from her pregnancy, though still tender, prepares their dinner in the kitchen. Coco's cuddled to Ernesto's side on their sofa, downed in her little embroidered dresses and baby shoes. The domestic life had never appealed to Ernesto, but having a child at his arms, a woman in the kitchen, and the smell of home wafting through the air, he had never genuinely thought about heading down that path. 

But Hector soon comes home and destroys that scene and Imelda kisses him lovingly and Coco babbles at her father with hands in the air, awaiting his arrival. Her father. Imelda's husband.  _Her_  father.  _Her_ husband.

_Hector._

The need for the approval of Imelda doesn't stump him, but from a  _toddler?_ It stuns Ernesto. Coco thinks of him as her uncle, her  _tio,_ and that should be enough. It should be more than enough.

But it isn't.

* * *

Despite the love of the family that isn't his occupying most space in his mind, Ernesto's need for music hasn't disappeared.

Imelda's adores singing. Her voice vibrates in the air, plastered with heavy tones and light notes to produce the simplest melodies or breath-taking tunes. Her voice raises goosebumps and stands hairs on end. She sings with her chest and projects with her heart. She's loud, but her voice can lull the fussiest baby to sleep, hence why Coco falls to her powers instantaneously.

Coco loves dancing. She's an active little girl. The stillness doesn't suit her. She jumps around in her skirts and they flair around her like petals. She has rhythm embedded in her veins and music filling her soul. Coco twirls with her mother, bounces with her father, and even during her growth, Coco continues to step on Ernesto's shoes and follows his lead.

Ernesto loves playing. His guitar has become his closest companion. When he plays, people fall in love. The strings quiver with deep sounds swirling about the human soul, and Ernesto embraces those notes. It flows naturally out of him, like a stream of cool water. And the crowds are his thirsty beggars. He plays to please them, to hear their applause and cheers, seek their knowing gaze and desire. Ernesto loves crowds and wants nothing more than to satisfy them.

He wants to sing with Imelda on a stage as brightly lit as the ones he sees on screen. He wants their voices to echo across the stadiums and inspire. He wants Coco dancing beside them in the prettiest dresses money can buy. He wants his family to be flashy, to be big, fun, loud,  _together._

But what they have now is peaceful. Imelda likes her life the way it is. Coco couldn't aak for anything more.

And Hector.

Hector plays them his guitar and sings them his songs and dances his dances.  They're lively with him there. Ernesto feels they need more.

More  _him_ and less Hector.

* * *

Ernesto begins to use the stage as an escape. Emotions don't treat him well, and he's tired of feeling things a million times over. Sometimes, the feelings scare him. Jealousy and rage, envy and sadness. He feels the few drips of love and concern, but they're overshadowed by the emotions so dark in his heart they create a skin of ice over it.

Alone with his thoughts scares him too. The many things his brain conjures up, they frighten him. They're inhumane, animalistic thoughts that could cost him his life.

Or that of those around him.

So Ernesto plays. He performs on stage with Hector by his side, belting out his songs. The cheering fills his chest with great pride and Ernesto doesn't look away from the crowd once. In these moments, he's happy with his  _hermano._ He loves him and cherishes him and thanks every god under the sun for his presence.

But when the cheering dies down and Ernesto's left with nothing but the static ringing in his ears, the thoughts return. They come home and Hector kisses Imelda with adrenaline flowing in his lips, holding her protectively by the waist. He smothers a smiling little Coco in kisses and she wraps her arms around his thin neck, holding on for dear life as that same laughter erupts from her throat.

The thoughts come back like a freight train. They collide into Ernesto so hard he feels like vomitting. Every cell in his body is telling him to breathe, to sit down and  _think._

Though thinking had lead him to this exact dilema.

So it's back to the stage.

He's grown exhausted in seeing Hector greet his family, so warmly, like always. And yes, there are moments where Imelda will hug Ernesto gently or Coco will peck his cheek, but there's still that same fine line he's unwilling to violate.

"Let's take a break,  _amigo_ _;_ we've been performing for days." Hector whines, his head on Imelda's lap and Coco resting on his chest. His wife's fingers thread through his hair and his own skim through Coco's, and they look absolutely complete.

Ernesto pushes down the feeling of nausea ans want, fiddling with the strings of his guitar, " _Oh,_ you're giving up on me now, Hector?" And the statement holds mirth, but not enough to what he could call playful.

Hector laughs,  _estas exagerando, Ernesto,_  and his laugh bounces little Coco on his chest and she giggles like it's the funniest thing in the world. His palm envelops her tiny back as she buries her face into the crook of his neck. Imelda stares down at them with the same look of fondness. Her tiny family, her doting husband and their excitable little girl.

Imelda's eyes flicker up. Meeting Ernesto's, she sees a look glaze over them. His eyes are glassy, nearly haunting, drilling holes into Hector's being.

Imelda snaps her fingers in front of his line of sight, " _¿Ernesto? ¿Estas bien?"_

Shaking his head, Ernesto comes back to reality. Hector's babbling nonesense to Coco and she's talking along, as if the words coming from her lips make any sense at all. His stomach churns terribly.

He nods. Chuckles, "Yes, yes; I'm fine."

* * *

Coco is growing. She's growing out her clothes, out of baby food, and into a child nearly ready for school.

Ernesto brings up the idea of a tour by then.

His family's been scraping by, hardly obtaining the few cents able to keep them out of the streets. Ernesto and Hector bring back earnings from their shows and Imelda makes a few dollars here and there, helping near the markets, cooking or cleaning. Felipe and Oscar are wonderful babysitters, and try to collect their own money for their tiny family as well.

But it's not enough.

"We could have  _everything,"_ Ernesto breathes, his voice exasperated and full of need. Going on tour, throwing his voice out there, letting people around the entire region of Mexico, perhaps countries even larger, hear his talent? It'd be a childish dream come true. They'd have riches and fame and anything they could ever want. He wants Coco to have the most expensive ribbons in her hair and Imelda the shiniest jewelry, sparkling in the sun's light. Her brothers could start their own business, further their education, and he could have the love of every fan he strived for.

Hector's skeptical. Imelda is too. They don't want to be apart. Coco needs her father, but Ernesto urges that  _she needs a better home, better shoes and clothes and food on the table._

_She's a growing girl._

Eventually, with enough persuasion, Hector agrees.

"Will they really like us? Will we be able to do this?" Hector's worries are stupid. He thinks too much with his head he may as well have it on backwards. Ernesto just claps a hand on his back and laughs, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

 _"Amigo, Mexico_ won't know what to do with us once we're done with it."

Hector's sole focus is then on a song. A song he creates just for Coco. To keep his memory in her head while he's away. Something for her hold onto until he comes back.

" _Remember me?"_

The words are scrawled in curvaceous handwriting, printed atop the mess of music notes written down under. The bold words in parenthesis stand starkly against the faded paper.

_(Tenderly)_

A lullaby.

Hector scolds him for looking into his journal. Holds the book against his chest like loosening his grip would make it disappear. "I'm writing her a song,  _chismoso."_

It's a lullaby and though Ernesto doesn't know how it goes, doesn't care for it really, he can vaguely hear it through the thin walls of their home. Hector's voice is soft and melodic and Coco joins in a whispered, hushed voice that tugs at his heart. Hector sings her song and takes it with him.

Imelda hates the entire ordeal. He's finalising the idea. She's upset and angry and she refues to speak to either of them until they change their plan. But when they're at the train station, minds set, Ernesto and Hector's bags packed to the brim with everything they need, she crumbles. There's the presence of enraged tears in her eyes, just a mist that turns her cheeks lightly red, and she yanks Hector into her arms. He hugs her like it's the last time and it's gut-wrenching _._

"You had better come home." Imelda demands roughly. There's no teasing in her tone; she wants him back and soon. She can't stand the thought of being separated from him and it shows. Imelda coils her arms around his torso, sinking her hands into his shoulders. Hector rests his face in the space of her neck and little Coco is squished between them. She has wide streaks of tears down her face and her little body hiccups with sobs.

Hector kisses her wet cheeks and his stubble scratches her skin enough to make her giggle weakly, even through her fit.

"I'll be home. I promise."

Ernesto's knuckles turn white as he grips the handle of his suitcase. The train begins to whistle. Ernesto calls Hector's name.

" _Vamonos."_

Hector kisses Imelda and Coco soundly. Ernesto, sighing from the impatience, merely pecks the young girl's temple, her sniffles causing a turmoil in his chest. As Hector murmurs his goodbyes to his daughter, Imelda grips Ernesto's wrist, biting the skin of her lips. Her eyes are desperate, " _Por favor, Ernesto._ Take care of him."

Ernesto's skin feels hot. He cups his palm over her thin hand. She's falling apart because of Hector. He's reduced her to this and it's impossible to watch. His promise comes out trembling.

"I'll make sure no harm comes to him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Imelda and Hector r the cutest and I lov them ok


End file.
